


Stretch

by Elisexyz



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s03e02 Sink or Swim, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Natural Disasters, Pre-Slash, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21792109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: Buck and Christopher don’t get separated during the tsunami. Eddie loses about ten years of his life in one day.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 181
Kudos: 1192
Collections: 9-1-1 Tales





	Stretch

**Author's Note:**

> I have been wanting to write something about them for a while, it figures that I'd start with a tsunami-related fic, since those episodes are what made me go: "Oh, shit. I am Very Very Invested in these three."  
>  I hope you will enjoy it <3

When Bobby walks up to him, face grim and shoulders tense, Eddie doesn’t think much of it: they are in the midst of a natural disaster, dealing with a quickly assorted camp to tend to the wounded and to the bodies, there is very little to smile about.

Bobby gestures to him to step aside, away from the young girl that he just finished tending to, and he places one hand on his arm, squeezing for a moment. Again, Eddie doesn’t think much of it, straightening his back in anticipation for orders.

“Yes, Cap?” he prompts, when Bobby hesitates, tightening his jaw and finally dropping his hand.

“I have bad news,” he eventually says.

Eddie snorts. “Is there anything that can make this disaster of a day any worse?” There is not a single trace of humour on Bobby’s face, and Eddie sobers up fast, flailing a little. “Cap?”

“There’s a survivor from the tsunami,” he begins, careful like he’s just waiting for a storm to come. “She was asking us about—she said that a man helped her, after the first wave, and that he had a birthmark, on his left eye.”

Eddie blinks at him, struggling to realize what he is implying for a moment.

“She said he had a kid with him,” Bobby adds. “And that she’s positive that he was calling him Christopher.”

“I—what?” he stammers. His brain almost hurts with the speed at which it’s trying to piece it together, make it gain some _sense_ —because it’s wrong, they— “No no no,” he quickly says. “No, they were at the movies, Buck said—” He _specifically_ said—

“There must have been a change of plans,” Bobby says, gently. His hand on Eddie’s arm suddenly feels all too tight, his muscles tensing under the touch, his skin itching to slip away.

There _can’t_ have been a change of plans, because how absurd would it be? They decide not to go to the movies, and of all the places that they could choose—and on the day a tsunami hits too—what are the fucking _odds_?

(Probably just about the same as the odds of Shannon showing up in their lives again and then dying in a car accident.)

“Where’s that woman?” Eddie demands, straightening himself up, shoulders square and a plan of action finally making its way through the gibberish in his head. “She must be wrong, I—I’ve got pictures of them, I can—”

“Eddie—Eddie, no, wait—” Bobby grabs him by both arms, standing firm and blocking his way, and Eddie doesn’t quite growl at him, but it’s a close thing. For a second he thinks of just kicking him away, punching him in the face hard enough to clear the way. That’s a close thing too.

“Listen,” Bobby begins, calm and collected and so _wrong_ in the midst of that disaster. “She’s been through a lot, and she’s told us everything that she knows.”

“You can’t be sure,” he objects, though he doesn’t know if he’s implying that she knows more than they think, or that they can’t be sure that she is talking about—they were at the _movies_. Period. Not at the pier, not anywhere near this mess.

“We tried Buck’s phone, and he isn’t answering.”

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Bobby says something else, about Christopher falling into the water when the second wave hit and Buck jumping after him and both of them disappearing, and then he goes on and _on_ and about how everything is going to be _fine_ and they are going to _find_ them and—

“I’m going,” Eddie cuts him off in the middle of a sentence, trying to shoulder his way past him. It doesn’t work.

“No, you are not,” Bobby says, firmly.

Eddie shakes his hands off him, blood roaming in his ears and rushing to his face. “My _son_ is somewhere out in this _mess_ —”

“And I’m sure that Buck has got him—”

“Oh, yeah?” he scoffs, tears burning in his eyes and his voice breaking a little. He thinks there’s the beginning of an hysteric laugh pushing its way up his throat. “And who’s got _him_ , exactly? He’s on _blood thinners_ , he isn’t even cleared for duty and—” Oh god, they might both be dead. He was walking around not even sparing a _thought_ for them, because he was so sure that they were _safe_ and—Buck is not at his best, and Chris is a wonderfully stubborn and independent kid but he is a _kid_ , and there are some things that he just _cannot_ do and probably swimming his way through a tsunami is one of those things and—

“Listen to me,” Bobby breaks through his tangled thoughts, reaching out for him again, hands firm on his shoulders. Eddie lets him do it, because he doesn’t think he has it in him to fight him off again.

They could both be _dead_ , and he can’t just _stand_ there, without knowing _anything_ , just praying—he wishes he were more devoted, because maybe someone would listen to his prayers then.

“I know you are worried,” Bobby says, gently. “I am too. But they are out there somewhere, and we are going to find them. Okay?”

He clenches his jaw, no words coming out. He has seen plenty of dead bodies in his life, it isn’t all that difficult to give them new faces.

“Chim is calling Maddie,” Bobby eventually adds, when it becomes clear that he isn’t going to get an answer. “Do you need me to call anyone that can come and stay here with you?”

At that, something in Eddie’s head snaps, his eyes darting to Bobby as he finally comes into focus and the words rush to his mouth in a flood. “I’m not staying here!” he thunders, disbelievingly. “I _need_ to—”

“You need to calm down.”

“How _could_ I calm down?! You just _told_ me that—” He falters, his voice breaking and fresh tears rushing to his eyes. It’s like realizing it all over again, whenever he opens his mouth to voice it. He much prefers it when he’s angry enough that everything else disappears for a few seconds.

“I know, I cannot expect you to be calm, which is why you can’t be walking around in this mess,” Bobby explains, his tone professional. “You are going sit down, take a deep breath, and see if you can collect yourself enough to be useful around here.”

“Bobby—” It comes out every bit as desperate as Eddie feels, really. “I _need_ to come.” He can’t stay there. He needs to do _something_.

Back when that huge earthquake hit, he spent the whole day with his worry for Christopher in the back of his mind, mostly resurfacing when he had a moment to breathe, because he was working, he had something to _do_. Back then, he could reason with himself that he was probably safe, at school, that he was just being _paranoid_ —

“You need to stay put,” Bobby remarks. He squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll let you know as soon as we’ve found them, I promise.”

Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but he gets cut off.

“Stay here. That’s an order.”

He tries to keep himself occupied.

He sits on a chair in a corner, takes a deep breath to push everything behind, in the back of his head where it belongs, trying to remember what it feels like to be in a warzone and not to be able to afford the luxury of thinking or worrying about anything that isn’t the next bunch of seconds.

He keeps his phone on him, and a few times he could _swear_ he heard it ring, could swear there was Christopher calling out for him, could swear he caught Buck’s frame somewhere in that small group of survivors—

He can’t think. He needs to _do_.

One minute at the time.

-

He isn’t sure how he is still standing, much less _walking_.

Christopher’s weight gets harder to bear with every step, and it’s a small mercy that he is holding onto his neck for dear life, so Buck couldn’t let him fall if he wanted to – and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to.

 _Just keep walking, just keep walking, just keep walking_ —

They are going to find _someone_ at some point. A bunch of firefighters, a cop with a car, a camp, _something_ —he doesn’t stop, not even to take a breath, because he thinks that if he did he wouldn’t manage to urge his legs to start moving ever again.

At first, he tried to keep talking to Christopher, to give him something to focus on, a desperate attempt at not allowing him to dwell on how shitty and scary this whole thing is, but he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs for both _that_ and walking anymore, so he just stopped. He thinks Christopher is shaking, if because of the cold or the fear he couldn’t tell, but it only makes his determination to keep going grow.

_Just keep walking, just keep walking—_

When his eyes finally settle on what looks like a camp, his vision is foggy and his head feels too light, and for a moment he thinks he’s making it up because he’s just that desperate. He thinks it’s just a picture in his head, a light at the end of the tunnel so that he doesn’t collapse half-way.

Then he keeps walking and it gets nearer and something switches in his head, making him think that _oh_. Oh, they’ve made it. Thank god.

Just a few more feet—he can’t collapse there, so close to safety, it would be ridiculous. Yet, his knees feel a little wobblier than they were thirty seconds ago, as if asking _can we rest yet?_

“Almost there,” he chokes out, though he isn’t sure if Christopher could hear him.

 _Just a little more, just a little more, just_ —

He spots Eddie, near enough to the perimeter of the camp, checking a woman’s pupils and making his chest explode with joy. That, too, could be just an hallucination, just make-believe, but he keeps blinking as he takes a few more tentative steps, and Eddie doesn’t go.

He chokes out what is meant to be but couldn’t pass in a million of years for a laugh, feeling himself tremble in relief and excitement because they’ve _made_ it— “Eddie—” He doesn’t have enough voice to call out. He swallows, realizing then just how _dry_ his throat is, and he tries to take a few breaths. “Chris—” he mumbles, his voice a little shaky. “Chris, there’s—there’s your dad, can you yell for him?”

Christopher doesn’t question him, instead twisting himself enough to try looking around, even though he isn’t wearing his glasses, as he begins calling out for Eddie. With all that moving, Buck has to shift a little on his feet and to ask for a titanic effort from his arms, so that he doesn’t drop him on the ground.

He sees Eddie barrelling towards them, and he vaguely registers his shouts as he smiles through the pain, even as Christopher keeps moving too much and Buck gets increasingly sure that he’ll _drop_ him any _second_ —

Eddie comes, and he takes Chris away, pulling him to his chest with ushered words Buck can’t make out. Too much weight suddenly lifted off him, Buck feels like he’s being suddenly pulled off his feet, the world shifting around him for a moment or two. That doesn’t worry him much: he _made_ it. Christopher’s safe, he got him back to Eddie, he _did_ it—

A hand comes to grab his arm, tight enough that it hurts a hell of a lot, given how sore he already is, and then Eddie is pulling him into a hug too, pressed against him and Christopher and cradling the back of his head with one hand.

Of all the things that he’s muttering, between laughs and chocked sobs, Buck only catches his name and a bit of Spanish, maybe, and he thinks he’s saying he was _scared_ —he doesn’t feel like listening, instead burying his face in Eddie’s neck and trying to take a breath, his lips twisting into a smile even as his chest hurts and his head spins and suddenly keeping his arms up seems next to impossible—he tries to hold onto Eddie’s shirt, but his legs give out, his head going for a sudden spin and everything turning black for a moment.

Next thing he knows, he’s crumpled to the ground, Eddie trying to keep him up with one hand even though he still has to manage Christopher’s weight in his arms – he got Christopher out, _safe_ —he _did_ it, thank _god_ –, and Buck just really wants to sleep. For a week.

The last thing he hears is Eddie shouting for help, but the only, blissfully content thought running through his head is: _It’s okay. You did it_.

“Buck?”

The voice slips through before the light, bouncing around his head rather painfully. He groans his disapproval, squeezing his eyes shout once again because _seeing_ things is doing him no favours either.

“Buck? Are you back with us?”

“No, go away,” he mutters, the words dragging out as his tongue appears impossibly heavy. He’d consider turning around and curling up in a ball, if the mere thought weren’t so exhausting. Can’t he just go back to sleep?

There’s a laugh coming from next to him, a little tentative at first but persistent, and an hand squeezing his, fingers shaking and grip tight enough to hurt.

It hits him like a truck – and he means _literally_ , he knows what that feels like, after all – as soon as the voice registers: that’s Eddie. He was with Christopher. _Shit_ , _Christopher_.

His eyes shoot open, panic tightening around his throat and his stomach sinking to his knees, but when he turns to Eddie there’s a wide smile on his face, though his eyes are red and glassy, and Buck remembers Eddie holding Chris, and Eddie wouldn’t even be _there_ if something were wrong with his son—he still needs to ask.

“Chris?” he gets out, a note of panic evident to his own ears, but Eddie nods, and he’s still smiling, and Buck feels some tension leaving his body.

“He’s fine,” Eddie assures. “Just a little shaken. He’s—he’s fine.”

Okay, good. That’s great. That’s all that matters, really.

Eddie gives his hand a squeeze, prompting Buck’s eyes to flicker back to his face, his eyelids a little heavier than they are supposed to be and something in him begging for _sleep_.

“Thank you,” Eddie only says, eyes fixated in his. “For—for saving him. Thank you.”

Buck gives a small nod, though he regrets it when he has the very unpleasant feeling that the world is moving in slow-motion, and then too fast. His stomach turns over.

“I’m sorry for taking him to the pier,” he gets out, grimacing a little at the thought of what could have happened just because of that change of plans.

Eddie snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. You couldn’t have known.” He takes a sharp breath, pressing his lips together as his eyes drift away for a moment. “I—you went above and beyond, to get him here safely. Thank you, really.”

Buck smiles a little, giving a shrug. “I love that kid,” he points out, because of course he does, and of course he’d do anything to keep him safe. It’s a given.

Eddie smiles back, so fond it hurts to look at, and Buck doesn’t mind having to blink away some fog to see it. “I know you do.”

With a smile still bubbling at his lips, Buck closes his eyes for a moment, already feeling himself slipping back into unconsciousness.

“Hey, Buck?” Eddie calls him back, hand still tight into his, tugging a little.

“Mmh?” is the best acknowledgement that he can come up with, eyes half-open and his chest heavy.

“I’m glad you got yourself here too,” Eddie gets out, after a pause that seems too long. “I was—I was terrified. For you both.”

That drags an inappropriately big smile out of him. “Thanks, Ed,” he mutters, drifting back to sleep as he squeezes Eddie’s hand and his stomach takes a very hopeful leap. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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